


Family Economy

by Hibou_Gris



Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e13 Dragon Plays with Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibou_Gris/pseuds/Hibou_Gris
Summary: "The family economy evades calculation in the gross planetary product. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched."





	Family Economy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tiny tag for the Iron Fist Season 1 finale; a scene between the fight on the rooftop and Danny meeting Ward at the crematorium; I figured Ward probably ended up in the hospital at some point that night. The title and the summary is from A Civil Campaign by Lois McMaster Bujold.

When Ward wakes up, cracking his eyes open against the harsh lights of the emergency room, Danny is standing next to his bed.

“Hey,” Danny says. He’s wearing a hoodie with the hood up, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks pale and tired, and very young.

“Hey,” Ward says, automatically, and then, “Wait. Danny. What are you doing here? You’re going to get arrested.”

He tries to sit up and nearly sways sideways off of the bed, black spots exploding in front of his eyes as the pain in his head instantly doubles.

Danny grabs his shoulder and pushes him gently back down. “Whoa – hey, Ward, c’mon. Lie down.”

Ward lets himself drop back onto the pillow, closing his eyes and breathing slowly through his mouth, until most of the pain passes and his stomach stops feeling like it’s going to rise into his throat. He’d really rather not throw up. Again. And especially not in front of Danny.

“Danny, what the hell are you doing here?”

He opens his eyes, and Danny’s frowning at him. “I came to see if you were okay.”

“You’re a wanted fugitive.”

Danny ducks his head, crossing his arms over his chest. One of his hands is entirely wrapped in gauze and bandages. “The ER’s busy tonight, there was a bad accident near Canal Street. No one’s going to notice me.” He gestures at the privacy curtains around Ward’s bed. “I closed the curtains.”

“Hogarth’s going to kill you if you get caught,” Ward says, closing his eyes again. He’s so fucking tired. He’s been dozing on and off ever since he got to the hospital, but he hasn’t gotten more than fifteen minutes of sleep before a nurse or doctor is back in his face, or before he jerks awake, because his brain is replaying his dad’s final moments – the impact of the bullets, the stumble backwards, the fall.

There’s silence, and then Danny asks, “So, are you okay?”

“According to the doctor, I’m probably not about to have a massive brain hemorrhage. They just want to keep me under observation for a few more hours.” And then he’ll have just enough time to shower and change before he’s supposed to appear at the police station and discuss the circumstances of Harold Meachum’s (second? third?) death. “You should go.”

“You have blood on you,” Danny says quietly.

“What?” Ward says, his eyes snapping open. He thinks: blood on his sleeves, gushing from his father’s chest, spilling into the elevator, bleaching it off the floor of the penthouse, warm and wet on his hands as Joy bled out underneath him.

“You still have blood on your face.” Danny reaches towards him as though he’s going to wipe it off, before jerking back.

Ward blinks at him. Danny’s face is doing something complicated and Ward doesn’t – he doesn’t know what’s happening here.

“You didn’t have to come,” Ward says harshly. “In fact, you’re a fucking idiot for coming.”

Danny looks confused. “I just wanted – ”

Ward doesn’t let him finish. “You don’t owe me anything, Danny, okay? Now get out of here.”

Danny stares at him, his expression set in familiar stubborn lines. “You saved my life tonight.”

“You saved Joy’s life,” Ward says. “I could never – you don’t know what that – ” His voice is wavering humiliatingly. He swallows and says, “And I tried to screw you over about a dozen times in the last few weeks, so – I’m pretty sure I’m still the one in the red.”

“It’s not about owing,” Danny says, too loud. They both flinch and freeze, waiting to see if anyone is coming to investigate.

After a tense few seconds, Danny glances around at the curtains, then shoves his hands back in his pockets. “I should go.”

“Wow, what a wild and crazy idea,” Ward says.

Danny flashes a grin at him, but then turns serious again. “Does Joy know about what happened tonight?”

“She’s not –” He has to stop to clear his throat. “She’s not taking my calls. I left a message but – I didn’t really know how to explain – I didn’t want to tell her about Dad in a fucking voicemail.”

“Yeah,” Danny says, looking down at the floor. “About Harold –”

“First thing in the morning, I’m calling around to find a funeral home with a rush cremation option,” Ward says, as flatly as he can.

Danny raises his head and gives him a long, level look, and Ward meets him stare for stare.

“Right. Good idea,” Danny says finally. “If you – well, if you need someone to be there for that, give me a call.”

“Thanks,” Ward says, and surprisingly, he means it.

“Take care of yourself, Ward,” Danny says, turning to go.

“You too, Danny,” Ward says, and means that too.

 


End file.
